


Sleeping with the fishes

by thecrownofthereveur



Series: Under Gotham's rainy sky [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Threats of Violence, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:10:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrownofthereveur/pseuds/thecrownofthereveur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim knew Oswald was a great liar. He knew he lied about pretty much everything to everyone. Including him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping with the fishes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Allowisp for betareading!

Gotham city was not a calm place. It was noisy, tumultuous. The streets weren’t a safe place for anybody, violence was everywhere, drugs and blood were common matters. Good things were thin on the ground in this city, and corruption was eating them slowly. Oswald was aware of this. He had grown up and lived here his entire life. This was his home. All of it. He was accustomed, and one side, a deep twisted side of him, enjoyed all this darkness surrounding him. But even so, Oswald liked calm on occasions. It was good for thinking, or for relaxing a little. His job, one he had entered when he was very young, was a demanding one. He had been beaten, insulted, and defeated quite a number of times. He had assumed this as part of his work. He knew great things would come for him with the future: power, respect, the fear of his congeners. He craved this. He had since the first time he entered Fish Mooney’s club, asking desperately for a spot inside.‘ _I’ll do anything, Miss Mooney,’_ he remembered he had said. But now and then, he still could find calmness in Gotham’s dark sky, even overcast, even covered constantly in dimness.Today it was going to rain, he realized. So, good he had his umbrella with him.

‘Did you think we weren’t going to find out about the money?! You think we’re stupid?’ a voice screamed in the dark alley, making Oswald smirk. His thugs seemed to being having fun with this one. They were all laughing. The quivering man on the floor the only exception.

‘No, not at all. I’m sorry, I truly am, please, don’t!’ he begged, as one of the men approached him.

‘As if you were so lucky,’ the thug said before kicking him hard in the stomach. The man stopped screaming then, putting his arms in his abdomen and rolling on his back. He puked on the ground soon after.

‘Careful, gentleman,’ Oswald said, taking a step forward to the shaking guy on the floor, smiling. ‘We don’t want to turn this into a crime scene.’ He pointed at the man with his umbrella.

‘Sure, boss,’ one of the three thugs said. ‘We’ll make this a clean job.’

Oswald nodded with his head, pleased as he turned on his heels to leave the place, limping but walking proudly, feeling powerful to give orders, to have this man’s life in his hands. _‘Please, don’t!’_ he heard the man screaming. The image of his face covered in blood, desperate, appeared in Oswald’s head. But he left the place to walk towards the restaurant before he could hear the sound of a gun being fired or the crack of a skull. This was no day to see death. This day Gotham’s dark sky was giving him calmness.

***

Jim never thought himself a lazy police officer. On the contrary, during his days in the army he had been known for a strange enthusiasm for work. He followed rules without considering, he did what was right with no one telling him to, and he wasn’t a mindless soldier who would do whatever his commanders told him to. If he thought the orders were unfair he would not move a finger to accomplish them. And this, surprisingly, had won him the admiration of most of his comrades, and an honorable discharge. But now here, working in Arkham, he was starting to feel like he was truly becoming indolent. He lacked liveliness during his work hours. Sometimes he would lose himself in staring at the floor, thinking about nothing, and raise his head to find a fight between patients in front of him. Sometimes he would stop to pay attention. Sometimes he would curse under his breath to every man or woman working in these walls.

This attitude excluded, maybe, Dr. Leslie Thompkins. She seemed to be the only sane person in all the institution. She attended his patients with care, she seemed truly dedicated to them. Not because of work, or because it was asked of her. But because it was the human thing to do, with these unfortunate souls, as she had described them once to him, that wandered in the hospital. Jim was both surprised and incredulous at this woman’s behavior. She was pretty. He noticed it the first time she walked in the nursing room with a patient that had wounded his knuckles breaking the mirror of one of the bathrooms. But even being so beautiful, so human, that night in which she had met Jim while he reached for Jack Gruber’s files, Jim had felt a shiver in his spine when she passed a hand over his back, near the shoulder, and stroked. Not a good shiver. One that was telling him to stop her. Jim remembered Oswald’s hands stroking his neck and shoulders some nights ago, in an attempt to give him a message. Jim had fallen asleep under that touch before long. Dr. Thompkins’ hands were warm. Oswald’s hands weren’t, they were cold. Jim shook his head and the memory faded immediately. He looked at Dr. Thompkins who was saying goodbye to head towards the women’s ward. Jim swallowed hard, and continued to read the files in his hands.

***

People. Little crowds all over the place. Waiters passing by, asking for orders. Women standing from their chairs to put on makeup in the bathroom. Men tasting gladly their steaks of meat, talking with their mouths full. They all were watching Jim, or so he felt, seated on his chair, with the untouched breadbasket in front of him. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was all in his head. But he couldn’t stop feeling observed, accused by all these people. Jim wondered if they could recognize him from the papers. He hoped not. He _really_ hoped not.

‘Jim, I can assure you I haven’t poisoned your food,’ Oswald said, smirking from his side of the table. ‘I don’t really have a great knowledge about poison, so you can eat if you want, instead of letting your plate get cold.’

Jim didn’t say anything. Neither did he respond to Oswald’s smile. His expression was completely blank. The waiter came then, opening a nice bottle of wine that Oswald had ordered. It was an expensive bottle. This was an expensive place. The sound of the cork made Jim strain in his seat. He avoided the waiter’s gaze looking at his plate: salad and a piece of meat. Apparently Barbara, above all, had succeeded in putting him on a healthy diet.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ Oswald said as the waiter poured him his glass of wine, ‘You can leave the bottle here.’ The waiter, smiling apologetically, turned back to leave.

Jim removed his gaze from the plate, putting it on Oswald again. He was no longer smiling. ‘What are we doing here?’ Jim asked, hardening his gaze, clenching his fist under the table.

Oswald laughed. ‘You only have one night off during your week,’ he said, filling Jim’s glass. ‘I figured you would want a change from the late night meetings in your apartment.’

‘No,’ Jim said, ‘This is dangerous. We have never done this before, not in a restaurant like this one. What do you really want?’ Jim leaned on the table, his clenched fist now beside his fork. He made a grimace, looking around him like if someone was watching him. Jim knew he was being an idiot, it’s just that he hadn’t realized it until he began to speak.

Oswald stayed blank for a minute. He left Jim’s drink on the table.

‘You know, James?’ Oswald responded. ‘No one here is paying any attention to if you are or were a cop, or to who you are sitting with. They are all too busy enjoying their meals.’

Jim leaned in his chair again, passing a hand over his forehead. He knew no one really cared if he was with Oswald here, he wasn’t working at the GCPD anymore. It didn’t matter. But still. Something about it didn’t feel right. ‘I just don’t feel safe here,’ he tried to explain, ‘you have to understand.’ _Please, understand._

‘Oh, I do,’ Oswald said, tilting his head. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ Jim asked, making a sound with his tongue. This voice was a familiar one for him. Like if it wasn’t important. Like it didn’t matter to Oswald. But it did. Nothing good was coming.

‘For trying to make this something more than romps in your bed every time you are feeling down,’ Oswald said, his voice disturbingly neutral. Still smiling. A dark expression in his eyes. Something about it made Jim sick.

Jim closed his eyes and swallowed hard. _They shouldn’t have had this conversation._

Oswald didn’t add anything else; he simply relaxed in his seat. His expression tightened but without frowning. His eyes shallow when he looked at Jim. They ate in silence for the rest of the night.

***

Oswald closed his eyes at the sound of the glass container breaking against the floor. ‘You are never at home anymore!’ his mother screamed, pacing around the living room. ‘You take your mother for a fool? Who’s this whore you have been staying with all those nights? Who is she?’ The yell stunned Oswald’s ears for a second. He clenched his jaw, putting his eyes on blank. This concert of screams had been taking place in the apartment for some twenty minutes already. His head was starting to hurt, and he was losing patience.

‘I’m not dating any whore, mother!’ he tried to explain, taking his mother’s wrist to keep her from breaking anymore of the table’s plates. ‘You always think that. I’ve just been busy lately. My job is not an easy one.’ Oswald bit the inside of his cheek. This hysteria his mother had. This jealousness. This overly protective side of her. It all was starting to make him feel ill.

‘Your job, your job,’ she said trying to get loose, her collars twisting from one side to another about her neck. ‘Always your job, I’m alone here all the time while you are at your job. It was the same with your father. All alone!’ she screamed, and Oswald could see a real fury in her old eyes, a real despair of losing him to the world, to another human being.

‘Mom, calm down,’ Oswald said, raising his voice, trying to keep his mother from struggling. The look in his mother’s eyes angered him. ‘I’m just busy! We can have dinner tomorrow night. I promise.’

The fight had started over breakfast, when Oswald’s mother had begun to talk about what he wanted for dinner. Oswald had stayed in silence. He didn’t have time for dinner and he could feel his mother’s displeasure immediately when he told her. When he added that he might not come home that night, her eyes had darkened. Oswald knew this look in her face. He had grown accustomed to it. Deception. Or something worse. It didn’t last; that was a common thing. The expression faded from his mother’s face to give space to a strange, wide smile, followed by a scream.

‘You lie! You always lie!’ she snapped, getting loose from Oswald’s grip and walking away dramatically. ‘About your work, about where you are at night, about those bullies that mistreat you! All lies!’

Oswald turned around and settled himself on the couch. He exhaled. He would just stay here to hear his mother’s complaints, her screams, her recriminations. He wouldn’t say anything, not to respond, not to defend himself. This was his mother, after all. He made a sound with his tongue, glancing at the old wallpaper of the living room. _His very dear mother._ He had things to worry about already. He had to talk with Don Maroni. He had to attend the restaurant, make sure everything was perfect. He would have to report himself soon to the Roman. He wanted badly to see Jim right now, and it made the words of his mother resound in his head. Oswald closed his eyes again, strongly, at the sound of something else breaking. He stood up from the couch sighing: his mother was starting to break the kitchen’s plates.

***

Detective Bullock entered the station taking long steps towards Captain Sarah Essen’s office. He was in a hurry to talk with her about this whole thing with Arkham. If they solved this case, maybe Jim would be reinstated as a police officer, and Harvey was jaded with solving (or not solving) his cases without anyone telling him to stop beating the shit out of his informants, or without controlling Nygma when he was being too annoying, or to just fucking sit with him to drink a cup of coffee after a shift – after all that had happened the last months, few cops were willingly to do this with Harvey. But when he was walking through the station and heard a desperate cry calling his name, Harvey glanced at the cells in the precinct, not quite believing what he was seeing. Inside one of the cells, grabbing desperately at the bars, was no less than Oswald fucking Cobblepot. Something about it made Harvey form a smirk in his face that he was unable to erase. He forgot about his case for a second, just to approach to the cells with a wide smile.

‘Penguin’ he said, ‘So good to see you.’

‘Old friend,’ Cobblepot said, smiling, a black and recent bruise on his eye. ‘Thank goodness you are here. There’s been some silly mistake.’

‘It looks like it,’ Harvey said, using his most mocking tone proudly. ‘Unless you pissed off somebody important. You didn’t do that, did you?’

‘Me? Of course not,’ Cobblepot said, confused.

‘Are you sure?’ Harvey asked. He did not harbor the slightest pity for him. And he made it very clear with his following words. ‘Examine your soul, Penguin.’

Oswald’s fake, happy expression faded slowly.‘Wait! Don’t go,’ he said, ‘Please, sir. I beg you. My patron, Don Maroni, is obviously unaware of my predicament. A simple phone call will resolve things, I’m sure.’

Harvey looked at the Penguin with sad, fake eyes. And with his hat between his hands, Harvey said, ‘But, you see, I like having you here,‘cause I can sit on my desk and look at you. It’s soothing,’ Harvey smiled, ‘like a _Bonsai tree_.’

With those words, the detective turned on his heel again to leave, extremely pleased with himself. This hadn’t been such bad day after all. He was ready to head towards the Captain’s office when Cobblepot’s pathetic, desperate tone stopped him.

‘Wait, detective,’ Penguin said, looking at him like if Harvey was his last hope, ‘ _Please.’_

Harvey growled, turning around again. This wasn’t so funny anymore. ‘What?’ he asked without bothering to get close to hear.

‘Could you tell Jim I’m here?’ Oswald almost whispered, fake distress upon his face. Harvey made a grimace of disgust.

‘No, I could not,’ he said, barely glancing at Cobblepot’s surprised eyes that from desperation had passed to indignation in seconds. Harvey was already turning around to leave. The guy was a lot more pathetic when he was scared, and he really didn’t like to feel bad for criminals. This was, he guessed, how the Penguin had survived this long. Appealing to this piteous look he projected. Making people feel sorry for him. He clenched his teeth at the idea of Jim being so naïve as to fall for this overacted performance. Harvey still recalled that time in the bar, Jim’s anxiety before leaving, Oswald getting out soon after too. And the things people were saying in the street, about those two… An unpleasant feeling appeared in Bullock’s belly. It was a revolting thought. He tried to shake it out, and headed towards Captain Essen’s office. He had a case to solve.

***

‘You are using your badge again,’ Oswald said after a while of silence. Jim dropped his gaze, looking at the police ID clinging from his jacket’s pocket.

‘Yeah, I…’ Jim hesitated, ‘I kind got my job back.’ He didn’t know if he should apologize for not having mentioned it before. He hadn’t wanted to. Oswald didn’t speak about his job when he was with Jim, not even when he seemed troubled by it, not even when he came to Jim’s new apartment all beaten, limping more than usual. Jim didn’t know if he should copy this behavior. However, at the good news, he saw Oswald’s eyes widen in pleased surprise. His lips curved in a smile from ear to ear. Jim knew that smile well.

‘Jim, that’s wonderful!’ he said, turning around towards the bar. ‘You should have told me. We have to make a toast for it!’ Oswald exclaimed, looking for glasses and for a good bottle of champagne. Jim closed his eyes. This voice was a familiar one, too. When Oswald came back to his seat, he poured two glasses of champagne for both of them. They were in Fish’s club. Or at least what used to be Fish’s club. When he received a text from Oswald telling him to meet him there, Jim had thought that the man had finally gone completely mad. Anyway, when he went through the doors and Mooney’s men weren’t there to stop him, Jim knew something was wrong. Around them there was no one, besides some of Oswald’s thugs and his driver, Gabe. Oswald didn’t explain what had happened to Fish. And Jim, fearing the answer, wasn’t really willing to ask.

Oswald lifted his drink towards him, and Jim, looking at the green eyes, smiled awkwardly before lifting his. ‘For you, being a detective again,’ Oswald said. Jim drank from his glass, feeling like something was pulling him to the floor. ‘I told you you weren’t a psychos’ guard,’ Oswald added, but his words sounded far, far away. This voice was a familiar one too, he reminded himself. Oswald usually used it when he was lying, when he was pretending. Jim understood suddenly. Of course Oswald already knew that he had been reinstated as a Detective. He obviously had suspected when he found out what had happened when he was unconscious before Jim’s meeting with Buchinsky at GCPD. Oswald always knew things, even the weirdest. He had known about the Family’s war, about the deaths that it had provoked during the last months. He had known about Arkham. He had known when Jim had been degraded almost immediately. Jim drank from his glass. He wondered if Oswald knew too about that kiss Leslie had given him in the police station. He was terrified about that possibility. Mostly because he didn’t know how Oswald would respond to that. They had never spoken about those kinds of rules. Oswald poured him some more champagne, talking about still not knowing what to do with the place. Jim drank again, not quite listening. This toast had been just a happy, theatrical piece between them, like a lot things in their uneasy relationship. _Relationship_. It was the first time Jim thought about it like that.

Some days ago, before Buchinsky had arrived at the station, Jim had watched from a distance Oswald’s conversation with Don Maroni. They were arguing. Oswald was stammering like he used to do when he was nervous. When tears that Jim didn’t know were fake or not started to appear in Oswald’s eyes, Jim remembered what he had said back in the ambulance the first time he woke up. ‘ _I have urgent business with Don Falcone_.’ With Falcone, Maroni’s rival. Whatever thing Oswald was playing at, he had fucked it up. For a moment, at the thought of Don Maroni trying to kill Oswald at the realization of his betrayal, Jim panicked. He didn’t know why, or maybe he did. He had even thought of stepping in to avoid a catastrophe. But at the end, Oswald had convinced Maroni about his innocence. Apparently he was a much better liar than Jim had thought. No. Jim knew Oswald was a great liar. He knew he lied about pretty much everything to everyone. Including him.

Jim finished his drink very fast, and let the glass on the counter.

‘What did you do for Falcone to give you this place?’ he asked.

Oswald smiled into his drink, still mostly untouched. Jim saw a strange expression hiding in his smirk. Fury? Shame? Why shame?

‘You don’t have to worry about that, James,’ Oswald said, smiling even wider. Jim stayed in silence. He knew he shouldn’t have asked at all.

***

Leslie Thompkins woke up that morning feeling tired. She had over-worked last night during her shift. She didn’t truly regret it. After all, her next shift would not start until five o’clock. But she was starting to feel lonely during these late night work hours. Jim’s company during his brief time working with her hadn’t been entirely bad, something really uncommon in a place like Arkham, in which a lot of doctors and nurses were crazier than the prisoners. Now that he was gone she missed him. She had come to the station looking for him some days ago. They had kissed. Leslie didn’t know if she should be glad about it. When he left, Jim hadn’t appeared to be very happy. He had even seemed confused.

It was ten o’clock in the morning now. Leslie stood up, stretching herself and walking towards the bathroom. The sky was grey, as usual, crossed by dark clouds. She brushed her teeth in front of the mirror and undressed herself to take a cold shower. When she finished she headed towards the kitchen using a white towel to cover her body. She put the kettle on to make coffee.

When she came into the living room, Leslie’s browns furrowed. In the hallway she kept a big aquarium with little fishes. Most of them she had bought in a pet shop around the corner. They were a pretty sight, with all those colors dancing in the tank, and they were easy to take care of having in count Leslie’s limited time at home. But there was a problem: the tank was empty. Not a single colorful fish was there, swimming and looking at her with big eyes across the glass. Leslie stepped closer, just to see if maybe they were hidden in the pirate boat she had bought some months ago. They weren’t. She wondered briefly if maybe she had put them out in small bags to clean the tank, and had forgotten about them. But she didn’t have any memory of that.

She was going to check in the laundry room where she usually put them during his tank’s cleaning, when she noticed a strange box in the doorway of her living room. Her browns furrowed. She usually didn’t get any mail during work days. She knelt slightly to see if it had any card, but it didn’t. Leslie, careful to not let her towel fall to the floor, grabbed the box to put it on the table and open it. Then, Leslie Thompkins’ eyes widened and she took two steps back without realizing it. A little, short cry came from her throat, sounding more like a whimper.

The only thing in the box was a card with a happy smile, and a mound formed by Leslie’s dead fishes.

***

Oswald had been awake for a while. He woke up in some moment of the early morning and couldn’t bring himself to go back to sleep. His body was sore. He had slept too little. Last night, after a lot of days working in the restaurant until late, he had come home completely tired, wanting to fall asleep immediately. But Jim had called. He had asked if they could meet. Oswald never said no when Jim was the one who asked to see him. So he checked if his mother was asleep and told Jim to come to the apartment. Not that he really wanted Jim to see the apartment in which he had lived so far with his mother – if he was lucky, and Falcone gave him the club, in a couple of weeks he could move there.  But he really didn’t want to go anywhere at this hour. It was the first time they slept together here, in Oswald’s bedroom. It was, somehow, unsettling. Oswald had never had anyone else in his room. He could feel the weight of Jim’s arm placed over his ribcage, his hand on Oswald’s shoulder. At the beginning, Oswald had found it strange to wake up with another body in the other side of the bed. It wasn’t anymore. Oswald shifted on the bed slightly, sinking in the sheets. He felt uncomfortable, but at the same time he didn’t want to move. He could feel Jim’s breathing. It was calming.

He thought about all the things that had happened lately. The incident in the GCPD with Buchinsky. Don Falcone killing Liza and taking away Fish Mooney’s power. Fish’s club completely empty, when Oswald and his men weren’t there. Jim being reinstated as a cop. Oswald smiled suddenly, at the idea of the regards he had sent to Leslie Thompkins. Everything was going very, very well.

Jim’s breathing suddenly changed. He was awake. Oswald felt his body shifting in the mattress. The hand in his shoulder slowly retracting back.

‘Good morning,’ Jim said, sitting in the bed and looking towards the window. ‘What time is it?’

‘Eight o’clock,’ Oswald said, glancing at the watch. Jim seemed disappointed at this answer.

‘I have to go,’ he said, grabbing his pants from the floor and starting to get dressed. ‘I’m late. Harvey is going to kill me.’

Oswald stretched his arms, sitting up in the bed too. He was naked from the waist up. His pale body felt cold without the sheets. ‘Detective Bullock surely will understand, James,’ Oswald said, trying to not sound so disgusted by the name. If he hadn’t like Harvey Bullock before their meeting in the GCPD cells, surely Oswald at least despised him now. Jim looked at him strangely, buttoning his shirt. Oswald didn’t add anything.

Jim stood up after putting on his shoes, pacing around the room looking for his things. ‘Have you seen my phone?’ he asked. Oswald shook his head, and let himself lean on the pillows again. Soon he would have to get dressed too to go to Maroni’s restaurant. He still had some things to fix there, and he wasn’t very sure how things with him and Falcone were going to work now that Fish was gone. So the best option was to stick with his usual schedule, until Falcone told him otherwise.

‘Can you pass me my tie?’ Jim asked, pointing at the nightstand. Oswald, feeling distracted, didn’t understand him at first. ‘Oh, of course,’ he said, grabbing the tie from the nightstand and handing it to Jim. ‘Try to not wake my mother, Jim. I don’t think anything good could come of it if she finds you here.’

Jim nodded. ‘I’ll try.’

Oswald’s mother had being deeply asleep when Jim arrived last night. She still was, Oswald could tell by the lack of noise in the kitchen. With enough luck she wouldn’t even suspect. He didn’t know what could happen, didn’t want to imagine it either, if she found Jim here. If she found any man coming out of his bedroom, after obviously having passed the night with Oswald.

‘Goodbye, then,’ Jim said, seeming unsure of leaving just yet. He leaned slightly towards Oswald, raising his hand to take his shoulder and inclining his head. But he seemed to think better about it, stepping back slightly. Jim looked at Oswald uncomfortably, then at his phone, maybe to avoid looking at him. Perhaps Jim had meant to kiss him. Oswald didn’t know. He didn’t expect farewell kisses from the detective anymore.

‘Goodbye,’ Oswald responded, with a small voice.

Jim half smiled,opening the door before disappearing into the hallway.


End file.
